


Dancing With a Stranger

by SkippySq



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Dance, Implied abuse, Lena being hard on herself, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippySq/pseuds/SkippySq
Summary: If only a dance in an alley with a girl you liked could solve your problems forever.





	Dancing With a Stranger

Tonight's plan involved hanging out away from the mansion for a change, because a giant shark made of gold nearly devouring you was something you felt warranted a bit of space. Magica surprisingly didn't put up a fight about this, for once leaving you be. There was nothing you could do until she to figured out how to get that dime off Scrooge. if that meant she left you alone and unharmed then all the power to her. If you were really lucky she’d never find that answer and wither away, never to return or hurt you again. It was a nice thought, even though your enslavement probably meant you’d have vanished to. But you liked to ignore that part whenever the fantasy popped up.

Originally you couldn’t imagine spending time with Hurricane Webby if you didn’t actually need to. All you had to do was get invited into that mansion, and now you could finally show up any day she was home. Surely that meant the end of unnecessary bonding time? Actually no, somewhere along the way you had started to legitimately enjoy her company, a revelation that surprised you. It was odd, but the dread over hanging out had turned to anticipation, and all the things that annoyed you had warped into positives. That seemingly infuriating optimism that drove you bonkers? It was starting to make you feel warm and hopeful. That hyperness and nonstop energy you once found unbearable? It had grown on you, making those moments of silence and solitude you once loved empty. The nerdy way she’d list off random facts and trivia about whatever crossed her mind? It was cute in some odd, Webby way.

Wait, maybe cute was the wrong word for it! Enjoyable? Yeah, that’s obviously what you meant. 

So maybe you were also kind of developing some weird feelings towards her as well, feelings that one could possibly argue bordered on the romantic in someway. No big deal, your crush would go away if you ignored it long enough. Probably. Maybe? This was a new experience for you so you really didn't have anything to base the assumption on.

You glanced at Webby, bouncing with every step she took along the sidewalk. How the two of you managed to ride the city bus without someone strangling her was well beyond you, or how such a small duck could have such high energy and low attention span yet still function. Whatever, at least now you knew what to expect the next time you took her on a bus, if you ever did. Probably not without your life depending on it, and even then chances were fifty-fifty you’d choose death. 

“Are we close?” Webby asked as she hopped and stepped over every crack and separation in the sidewalk, like performing some bizarre dance routine. You hadn’t told her exactly where you were taking her, simply that you were going to see a band perform. You chose not to mention that the band was playing at a bar. A lie of omission was pretty good for your standards. It wasn’t that you thought Webby would have turned down the invitation if she had known, otherwise you wouldn't even consider bringing her there. It was that she had a habit of being blunt and you weren't sure she could keep it a secret from her family that you planned to take her and stand outside a bar for an hour just to listen to a local band you liked.

“Mhm,” you muttered, fidgeting with the strap of your backpack stuffed full of treats you had spent the afternoon shoplifting from various gas stations and convenience store. Apparently you had a suicidal part of you that wanted to see what Webby on sugar looked like. 

“So how long have you been a fan?” she asked.

“Of Fowl Play? A few months, they play here once every couple weeks. They suck pretty bad, friends with the owner I think?” You truthfully answered, a rare occurrence. With so many lies about your home and family hanging in the air it was nice to give an answer you didn’t have to keep memorized in fear it would pop back up.

“Oh, if they’re bad why do you like them?” 

“I like the energy they put out.” Two truthful answers in a row, maybe a record? Though it didn’t seem to actually answer her question based on her look of confusion. She nodded as if she understood though, which was very much a Webby thing for her to do. She liked to pretend she knew exactly what you meant, even if you spoke absolute gibberish, because to admit otherwise would make her feel weird. You found it kind of endearing in a strange way. All you ever did was pretend, how could you not relate to her attempts? “It’s like, you listen to music cause you like the sound of it, right? Well this band sounds awful, but they have a lot of fun playing so it’s more like you ignore the music and just enjoy the feel of the band, ya know?” Webby nodded, though you’re certain it’s not because she actually understood your cryptic answer about energies and feelings. “It’s hard to explain, but you’ll feel it when we’re there.”

“Well I can’t wait to not listen to them!” She proclaimed with oddly placed and seemingly genuine glee that made you snicker. 

“That’s the spirit!” A genuine smile spread on your beak, strange and wonderful. For the next block you and Webby (mostly Webby) talk about music, and you slowly feel a weight lifted off your shoulders, one you never notice is there until you’re deep in conversation with this girl. Even the heft of the backpack disappeared as she stole your attention. Every few seconds she’d get another laugh from you, another smile too. You had initially left a comfortable distance between the two of you, but now you notice that distance is long gone and your standing shoulder to shoulder.

Who closed the distance? Was it her? Yourself? Did it matter? No, not really. It meant squat, just that you two were walking a few inches closer together, nothing more. Her hand was dangerously close and you had a flash of a thought about how you’d like to hold it. That thought meant nothing too, and neither did the certainly noticeable blush on your face.

Your eyes glanced down at the sidewalk and you spot your shadow. Sometimes that's just enough to steal your good mood. It's quickly replaced by the reminder of what you were and the way you were using this girl. When you talked with Webby you forgot all the bad in your world, but your shadow was always there to remind you. Your hand balled into a fist under your sleeves and you took a step away from Webby to bring back the personal space, moping quietly while she continued talking. Eventually she went quiet too, which made the panic set in. Did she notice your behavior? She didn’t think it was something she said or did, did she? You desperately wanted to explain yourself and clarify that she is certainly not to blame, but what would it matter? She'd ask what had bothered you and whatever you'd say would just be another lie, added to all the others like a pile of firewood.

You stopped outside the bar and finally broke the silence that had grown between you. “We’re here,” you stated, tilting your head towards the bar. Webby’s spark relit as she glanced at the building, mesmerized by the neon OPEN sign in the window. The letters flashed out one at a time before all returning to life and washed your feathers in deep blues and reds. She almost walked through the open doorway and you had to rush to stop her, grabbing her hand just in time to keep from making a scene. “Wait, slow down there!” You said a You walked her a few steps forward and turned down the alley, carefully navigating over a few broken bottles and shards of glass. 

“Everything ok?” she asked when you finally stopped walking. You still had a firm grip on her hand and felt a huge blush spread across your face, certainly standing out against your white feathers. Did she notice it? You can’t tell if the look of surprise is from your flustered expression or from dragging her down the alley. You let her hand go and rubbed at your arm, looking in every direction she wasn’t in. Eye contact was a bit above your comfort level currently. 

“Oh yeah, absolutely. It’s just we aren’t allowed to go inside. This is kind of a bar, and by kind of I mean it’s actually a bar.” Your curiosity restored your ability to look at her and for a second her expression doesn’t change. Did she know what a bar was? You think you’ll have to explain, because sometimes the most basic of things escaped her. She could tell you the proper stance for different sword techniques, or how to properly reload a crossbow while sprinting, but society and regular interaction was where she struggled. 

“Wait we aren’t allowed to go in there!” She shouted way too loudly. You shushed her and glanced around to make sure nobody heard that. Guess she knew what a bar was after all. There was something enjoyable about her innocence, something you both admired and envied. You put your hands on her shoulders and give a very delicate squeeze.

“You’re right, we aren’t allowed in, which is why we’re just gonna stay out here and listen if you’re ok with that?” You clarified, doing your best to avoid pressuring her. If she decided she wasn’t comfortable you’d offer to take her to a park close by and gorge on candy there instead, because for once tonight was about what the two of you wanted and not what Magica demanded.

“I guess as long as we don’t go in and just listen it’ll be fine.” She rationalized.

“You’re the best Webs.” The look of joy on her face from your praise blindsided you for a second, but you shake it off and decide to unload the backpack before it breaks from too much stuffed inside it. You let go of her and hold up your finger, gesturing for her to wait a moment. The pack is unzipped and you pull out a somewhat tattered purple blanket. You had stolen it years ago during your first winter and couldn’t dare to part with it. Sure, some holes had started to grow ridiculously large and it did a bad job of actually keeping you warm, but it somehow made you feel safe. 

You checked to make sure there were no stray glass shards on the ground before you laid the blanket out. Webby watched you with interest and giggled when you moved around and tugged at the corners to make sure it was covering as much of the cement as it could. The giggle turned into a laugh when you dumped the snacks out of your backpack and organized them neatly on the blanket. Her laughter filled you with a sense of pride at having amused her and you loved it. “Waalah!” You said when pleased with the setup. 

“Oh, very impressive.” Webby replied, giving you a round of applause. You took a few dramatic bows and thanked the audience before plopping down onto the blanket. It did an awful job cushioning the cement and you wince a bit, hopeful Webby didn’t notice your faux pas. If she did she said nothing, and you appreciated that. You pat beside you on the blanket and give her a smirk. She sat on her knees beside you, looking through the assortment of unhealthy, teeth rotting goodness you spent a lot of time and energy stealing. You realize you’ve never seen her eat candy and hope that at least one of the treats you grabbed would be to her liking. And crap, the sodas were probably lukewarm at this point.

Suddenly you were self-conscious about everything, from the lack of actual food to your general appearance. What if she hated the food? What if she was bored? Cold? Was your makeup ok? Did your breath stink? It was a bit breezy out, was your hair still ok? Nails too long? Body too lanky? Too quiet and mopy? Too nervous? Why did everything suddenly feel like an absolute mess? And most importantly why did you care so much? 

“Hey,” came a familiar voice beside you, snapping you out of your mental spiral. You turn and see Webby, munching on a chocolate bar with a content smile. Your worry slipped away just a bit and you let your shoulders slink down, doing your best to relax. You were just overthinking this friendly get-together was all. “Are we gonna be able to not listen to the band out here?” she asked. 

Oh yeah, that’s why you were here! You’d completely forgotten for a second. “Yeah, they pretty loud. Even if they close the door you can still hear them through the walls.” You decide that eating something would help you seem more nonchalant, not that you weren’t totally indifferent, cause you were! You grabbed… something? You weren’t really sure what it was you were going to be eating, just that it was the closest thing you could grab and you desperately needed something for your hands to fidget with. 

A fair round of clapping could be heard in the bar and the band began to play. This brought your heart back to a healthy pace now that the two of you had something to focus on that wasn’t your ridiculous gayness. Webby gave her signature squeal and applauded towards the bar, nudging you with her elbow to join in. You do of course, because it made Webby happy and that in turn made you happy. Maybe the rest of the night would be uneventful and you’d just listen for an hour before taking her home? 

Sure, because Webby Vanderquack and normal totally went hand in hand.

A couple songs played and Webby seemed to genuinely enjoy the band, bouncing and rocking when she got the rhythms down. Something about her company made you appreciate the music more, and the usually uncomfortable concrete was… still uncomfortable, but in a more tolerable way. It was also a huge relief to know you hadn’t dragged her out here for nothing and that she was having a good time. The two of you had laid back on the blanket some time during the set, arms folded behind your heads to substitute for pillows.

The two of you get a moment to talk when an instrumental played, and even when it ended you were content to let the music fade into the background and continue your conversations. Webby had told you what it was like growing up at McDuck manor and you would ask her follow-up questions. Part of it was to keep from having to discuss your life and juggle more lies, but mainly you just enjoyed listening to her talk and the animated way she told her stories that had you absolutely captivated. She’d raise or lower her pitch when talking as someone else, stand up and act out scenes as if performing on At one point she even did a few fencing maneuvers when recounting a fight she had been in, walking you through every parry and thrust.

The lamp post above you came on while she finished up the latest story and it made you aware of how much time had passed, to the point the sun had almost set. Webby returned to your side on the blanket and sat, nearly breathless. She took a large swig from the room temperature soda you two had been sharing. “Anyway, they banned crossbows the next year. It’s called “The Webby Law”.”

“Man, I wish I had a law named after me.” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.” She confirmed between breaths. Her phone started to ring and you watched her dig under a mountain of candy wrappers to find it. “Hey granny!” she answered when she finally found it. You could hear Beakley on the other end asking why she wasn’t home yet, her voice stern and laced with disappointment. “Sorry, we lost track of time. I’ll catch the next bus and be home as soon as I can.” You hate the somber and sparkless way her voice came out, and that her smile had vanished. It felt wrong in a way, as if it was unwritten law that Webby should never be sad.

Maybe that could be the Lena Law? 

“Please don’t say that,” she replied, making a wave of anxiety sweep over you. Whenever you disagreed with Magica on something it was usually followed with a few new bruises on your arms and a shadowed claw wrapped around your beak, almost suffocating you. That definitely wasn’t the case with Webby and Beakley, but that fear was instinct at this point and it took some effort to hide your thankfully small panic episode. 

“Sorry Webs,” you apologized, sitting with your knees squeezed close to your chest for some pressure. She mouthed “not your fault” before returning to the phone call. 

“No granny, it was my fault.” She rose to her feet and walked a few steps away. She must have been concerned about what you’d overhear. “I was telling her stories and lost track of time, she didn’t do anything wrong.” Webby defended, no doubt risking further irritation from her grandmother. Deep down you wanted to speak up, to say that she definitely shouldn’t waste her breath on you, that any blame targeted at you was deserved but fear had too tight a grip and you remained quiet. “No, I don’t need Launchpad to come get me, I’ll be home soon. Yes, I promise. Love you too, Granny.” She sighed and ended the call, giving you a shrug. “Granny can be a bit… much sometimes.”

In this moment you want to tell her everything; all the lies you had told, all the feelings that had built up, and anything else that popped into your head. You wanted to give her the honesty she deserved and hope it wasn’t too late for the forgiveness you didn’t deserve, that she wouldn’t regret the time you had spent together and maybe even continue it. But you’re too scared, and try as you might the words get lodged in your throat. You hated yourself more than Magica now, something you thought was impossible. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah, ok.” You weakly responded while scooping up all the garbage and shoving it into your backpack. Normally you would have just lifted the blanket and left the litter, but Webby probably wouldn’t approve and you didn’t want to disappoint her so quickly after she went to bat for you. The blanket gets pushed on top of the trash and you’ll have to scrounge up some quarters around town for the laundromat tomorrow, but right now you just want to get Webby home in a reasonable amount of time before she gets in any more trouble.

You struggled to zip up the pack, overfilled with half eaten candy and empty soda cans. Webby’s hand came to rest on your shoulder and you turn to see Webby staring at the bar. “Wait, listen!” Webby said. You do and realize the band is in the middle of it’s last song, a slow and soft melody strummed on the guitar meant to end the set on a calm note.

“Yeah, they always end with that one.” You explained. She moves her hand off your shoulder and takes a step back from you. She bowed, her hand held close to her chest and arm straightened behind her..

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” She asked.

What?

“W-What?” You stammered. Was she serious or was this just being playful? The look she gave you seemed sincere enough, but even if she meant it you’d have to decline, right? 

“Dance with me?” she asked, a bit of worry painted on her face. She must not have planned on you hesitating 

Crap, she really was serious! “B-but what about your grandma, don’t you have to get home?” you questioned.

“An extra five minutes won’t make a big difference, and I don’t want the night to end with a call from my grandma.” Her hand was still being offered and the longer you look at her the more tempting it became. No, you were experiencing some new thoughts and feelings about Webby and what you needed was some space and distance. The smartest thing to do right now was tell her no and take her home, then spend a few days getting your head on straight before re-establishing contact. 

But every inch of you wanted to say yes and take that hand, to hold her close and pretend for one moment that you were just a normal girl sharing a dance with someone you had a crush on. “Please?”

Fine, for once in your life you could lie to yourself and be a normal girl. “Ok, sure.” You responded, eliciting her unique squee. “But don’t expect my usual perfection, I’m more of a “throw your body around and wave your arms” kind of dancer.” 

“That’s fine, I’ve never danced with someone before, but I’ve pretended a bunch!” Webby took a step toward you and in an instant time slowed.

Your heart skipped for a second as it finally dawned on you that hey, slow dancing kind of involved physical contact! Your eyes widened and a numbness fell over you that ept your arms and hands limp at your sides. “Uhmm…” You stammered, desperately searching for something, anything that could get you out of the situation you had gotten yourself into. Sadly it appeared your brain had abandoned you. A shame, but it had been a long time coming and you wished it luck. 

“Here, you’re hands go...” Webby grabbed your hands and guided them to her waist, placing them on her hips. You gently grip onto her, scared the slightest amount of force would shatter her like glass. Clearly you forgot who you were dealing with because the idea of Webbigail Vanderquack going down so easily was silly enough you’d have laughed if you remembered how. “Ok, so then I put my hands…” she placed her arms on your shoulders, her hands meeting behind your neck. “And then we just move back and forth I think?” 

She took the lead and started moving to the music, and slowly you began to as well. For every step she took forward you would take one back, until the two of you fell into a rhythm. Occasionally you would step on her foot and give a look of panic, but she laughed each time and told you not to worry about it. The two of you continued dancing under the lamp post as if it were your own little spotlight. At one point you felt her fingers brush the back of your neck and it felt like tiny fireworks dancing on your skin. And once - when you felt either brave or careless enough - you even pulled her a bit closer. For a moment you thought you saw a blush on her face, but that was certainly just wishful thinking on your part.

All you wanted was for this dance to stretch into eternity, swaying with Webby under a starless sky forever. In this moment there was no lie, no manipulation from an abusive aunt dangling freedom in front of you. There was only a girl you thought was cute, with a scent of strawberry shampoo in her hair and the softest look in her eyes that made you feel seen. Hell, she made you feel worth a damn. 

Like you mattered. 

And for a moment you forgot everything you were and imagined a future holding this girl in your arms, of adventures at her side and stolen kisses under a ragged purple blanket in the middle of the night, the scent of strawberries burned into your sweater while you upheld the Lena Law every second of every day for the rest of your life.

It was so wonderful, and you could have none of it. There was no happy ending in your deck of cards. You were only brought into existence to serve Magica, and the only way you’d have a future was by betraying Webby and getting that dime. But what was the point if the only future you wanted was with her? Why had fate deemed you a punching bag? What did the universe have against Lena De Spell?

But dancing with Webby made all that disappear, and you knew when the song ended and the band received their applause this was over. These feelings would only be memories, colored with shades of hope and the illusion of possibilities and happiness. You could spend the rest of the dance dreading its end or you could embrace this fantasy for just a few more seconds. You could imagine planting a kiss on her forehead and how that could lead to something new and strange and wonderful, and a future that had dancing and laughter and warmth. 

Easy choice.

So you stepped forward when she stepped back and danced in your little circle of light while it was still yours, because tomorrow didn’t exist. Five minutes from now didn’t exist. The only thing in this world was a girl you loved and a dance you shared.


End file.
